You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore....

You puff the poets of other days,
The living you deplore.
Spare me the accolade: your praise
Is not worth dying for.

Epigrams, VIII, 69, l. 1

You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.

You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.

You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.

You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.